


irradiated sand at your fingertips

by orphan_account



Category: Vast Error
Genre: Gen, Paranoia, Post-apocalyptic AU, Sleep Deprivation, Thievery, bc they dont really come in here at all, but hey who knows i might update this in the future, but only for like 2 seconds at the very end, group chat shenanigans, implied character relationships that i didnt want to tag, implied dismurrit, implied laipaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 21:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19185505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: WA: But well I guess we all have different waterWA: That floats our boatsWA: Or somethingWA: And if your ocean is dangerWA: Then I’ll be a bit concernedWA: But it’s yoursWA: And I trust that you’ve built your boat strong enough





	irradiated sand at your fingertips

> Be the TECH PRODIGY.

You expected the summer to be warmer than this. You suppose that’s just what happens when a seemingly endless array of ashen clouds are covering the sun all the time, but it’s somewhat disappointing nonetheless. Not that you’d prefer the heat beating down on you.

It still doesn’t lack the humid, muggy air quality - the kind of air that crawls slowly in and out of your respiratory passages like sticky, hot molasses. Almost suffocating, but not quite. Stray winds passing through the benevolent yet almost terrifyingly still surroundings puff up dirt and dust onto your uncovered skin, giving sensory input a dry and unclean sensation you wish you had the ability to wash away. But there are no sinks or showers. You haven’t seen either in a very long time. You just have to sit here, watching, waiting, in suddenly unfamiliar mid-July weather.

You should know by now that no kind soul is coming to rescue you. It’s been years. The realization must’ve hit you long ago already, but for some odd reason, a part of you is clinging onto some empty and fruitless hope. So much time alone ruins a person.

There’s really no use in watching for signals, so you crawl back down the rusty iron ladder into your headquarters (“headquarters” might be giving the place a little too much credit, but it’s not like anyone else gives a shit). It’s cluttered from about six years of use. You’d clean up more if half the shit strewn about wasn’t important, like the miscellaneous food rations that don’t fit in the storage room and the hardware you dug out from various abandoned buildings nearby. You’ve yet to start fixing literally any of it.

It at least looks a lot nicer than it did when you first found it. Back then, you were much scrappier and took everything that came into your grimy delinquient hands. Every night was pitch black, freezing cold, and full of unknown terror. But it never stopped you. Hence why you somehow haven’t died yet? That part is still a fucking mystery. As time went on you could afford more losses, you didn’t need to stock up with every possible thing you found with even the slightest hint of use in it. You made an ancient run-down Blockbuster Video into a home despite the odds.

You suppose the only downside to having such a nice place in a wasteland like this is the potential unwanted attention it gets you. It’s scarily paradoxical- aching for the physical company of a friend, while being off-the-walls paranoid about anyone other than you stepping foot in here.

Your self-modified communication device buzzes in your pocket while you make your way to your bedroom. It frightens you a bit, out of unexpectancy, but the nerves go away instantly when you realize what it is. You make haste answering.

WA: So I have some good news and some bad news  
WA: It’s a little bit complicated  
WA: But probably not too much too explain  
WA: I understand if you’re busy with something though  
WA: You can text me back  
UK: wuts the haps lai man im here i got nuffin goin on  
UK: nah nah wait ackshully lemme take a guess first  
UK: so good newz: you n bubble boy found a lackey out in the open wilderness w more supplies an wits than any otha dumb fool in this shitstorm of a dust tornado could ever dream of havin  
UK: an the bad news iz he got brain tumors up the wazoo and a full buffet of mutations rottin on his meat suit n at this point youll settle 4 anythang even if it means ur lil hangout snack shack of the apocalypse is hostin a radioactive man wit 20 eyez  
WA: Well that’s uh  
WA: Oddly specific and I’m kind of worried now?  
UK: nahhh im pullin ur leg   
UK: tru story tho but it went n already happened  
UK: heard that fuckin campfire tale offhand a while back frum some poor fellas i had ta excessively pocketpick  
UK: shit wuz wack as all hell i almost feel sorry 4 em  
WA: Maybe some other day I’ll ask about that  
WA: But right now has more  
WA: Pressing matters  
UK: ruh roh  
WA: Do you want the good news first  
WA: Or the bad news  
UK: letz spice it up gimme tha nasty shit 1th this time  
WA: ...Firth? I am entirely unsure on how I’m supposed to pronounce that  
WA: But okay  
WA: The bad news is we’ve been seeing a lot more activity from very big and  
WA: Quite frankly scary creatures  
WA: It leads into the good news though  
WA: I may have picked up a tag-along on the way to the city  
WA: There were these nomads or something with her  
WA: Seemed dangerous but I’m not one to judge a book by its cover  
WA: So I didn’t hold it against them  
WA: But one of my warning shots must have hit her earlier  
WA: So they left her to die in the woods  
UK: aw man u gotta b thrashin my rash here rusty windpipe   
UK: u gots 2 be breakin my bacon man  
UK: absolootly froggin my hog  
UK: cant end ya story on a line like dat it just dont fly  
UK: i came for tha gud news now u gotta hand ova the sugar like im ya neighbor  
WA: She’s alright now I think  
WA: I wasn’t misleading you  
WA: Or whatever it was you said  
WA: Me and Arcjec have plenty of room for her  
WA: She’s great company  
WA: Has a knack for jokes  
WA: Which is always good  
UK: eyy dats why we’re buddiez  
WA: Sure  
WA: I do enjoy a good laugh sometimes  
WA: When I have an inhaler on hand  
WA: I’m telling you man she nearly  
WA: Knocked the wind clean out of me  
WA: I do love Arcjec but I dunno  
WA: She’s certainly something else  
WA: I’m not used to big change being this good  
UK: gunna hafta hav a funnie moments battle w dis grl then huh  
UK: i see rite as acid rain when my epic well earnd throne is about ta b usurped from me  
WA: Maybe  
WA: Who knows  
WA: We haven’t been able to travel down to your place  
WA: In a long time  
WA: How are things down there by the way  
UK: reel excitin  
UK: most folks dont think a wasteland of ye olde san fran wld be as epic and buckwild az it is 4 me  
UK: but it do  
UK: no matta how much i stay cooped up in this broken television dumping ground somefin alwayz  
UK: ALWAYS  
UK: finds me sooner or laytr  
UK: it aint alwayz pretty as the intricate n stunnin glory of the windows 98 default wallpapers but ey ill take change when i can hav tha pleasure of comin acrost it  
UK: i am but a fearless brutha makin my way in the dunes  
WA: I don’t know about you but  
WA: In my book that’s usually not a good thing?  
WA: But well I guess we all have different water  
WA: That floats our boats  
WA: Or something  
WA: And if your ocean is danger  
WA: Then I’ll be a bit concerned  
WA: But it’s yours  
WA: And I trust that you’ve built your boat strong enough  
AH: Would it actually put you two in an early grave to use the private messaging system?  
AH: I’m not exactly in the mood to recieve this ample plethora of ping notifications from the group text we are supposed to be using for vital communication purposes only to find out the backlog is nonsense drudgery reading work, chock full to the very brim with off-topic conversation.  
AH: It would’ve been absolutely fine if anything Murrit said was useful to anyone ever, and we could have properly discussed further plans and organization for the future of our pathetic excuse of a friend group, but we can’t all get what we want, I guess.  
UK: homie it aint as big a mountain you think ur climbin  
UK: aint as deep a river eitha  
AH: There are multitudes of situations in which me getting this many buzzes would be extremely dangerous.   
AH: To the fortune of all of us, I was simply trying to get some shut-eye.  
AH: But had I been elsewhere.  
AH: The mountain becomes a cliff and the river becomes an oceanic trench.  
WA: Hey let’s slow the roll here  
WA: There was no harm intended  
WA: Just a misclick  
WA: We’re all good  
UK: yuh we good  
AH: Just don’t drag on your incessant rambling for longer than it needs to be next time.  
AH: On another more relavant note.

animatedHumorist [AH] added pliableDecadence [PD] to the group.

AH: This is the mechanic we rescued. She’s one of us now.

 

> Be the SCAVENGER.

You are a stranger leaping and bounding through sand dunes, the guttural roar of mutated monstrosities following close behind you. Adrenaline carried you to this nearly empty lot for almost ten minutes straight and you’ve yet to black out from exhaustion. You sweat buckets despite the cool and breezy air of an almost permanent nuclear winter, your heart racing at speeds you previously thought impossible. Fear, it seems, is your most powerful motivator.

The rush drains but the anxiety remains as you enter what would be considered a more populated area, dense with broken down infrastructure, long overtaken by the merciless hands of mother nature. But there’s nobody here. The only sound left is the heavy filtered breaths from your oxygen mask. 

You’re well aware those bastards won’t lose you that quickly. You need to hide, fast. Your eyes zip around the horizon until you spot it- the very tip of a ladder poking out a particularly large dune. You could hide in there easily.

You take the chance and (stealthily) jump in. Your landing barely makes a sound. Above you, the day’s dull light allows you to see a small corridor across from the ladder. A door with a rusty padlock hanging loosely from the handle. It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for a very long time. A shame too, since from the tiny crack left open in the entrance, you can tell it’s abundant with resources.

It’s every last-man-standing for himself. You’re going to raid the fuck out of this place.

> Be the TECH PRODIGY.

The conversation displayed on your screen stopped making sense to you a few minutes ago. Blocky walls of text in orange and teal and blue gloss over your eyes like a misty fog, and not just because your eyesight has been rapidly deteriorating over the past few years. You actually... don’t remember the last time you slept? You don’t remember a lot of things now. Your train of thought multiplied itself and you watched each track fall in different directions into an abyss. 

But it’s fine. You’re letting your mind run at about the same rate as your mouth.

WA: Murrit  
WA: You’ve been typing for a while  
AH: Watch it be something completely unrelated to the extremely important situation we’re trying to discuss.  
UK: milk eggs bread pvc pipes ice paper charcoal heavy cream 3 yds rope 8 yds fabric hand sanitizer donuts donut holes superglue lemon juice towels  
AH:   
AH: What the fuck  
UK: bruh its my shoppin list do u mind  
PD: are you gonna glue the donut holes back in >:0  
PD: i did that before and it did not work

CLANG.

You stop typing mid-response as your body goes completely stiff, your eyes widened and all senses alert, jaw clenched so hard it hurts. Everything is very still for a moment, no noise to break the silence, and at first you think it might’ve been nothing. It must be your sleep deprived brain playing tricks on you.

But there’s another noise in that same direction. Somebody’s in your fucking bunker.

Your head whips to the wall of televisions where you keep live security camera feedback on at all times. You should’ve paid much closer attention. But there it is, clear as day used to be: a small figure rummaging through your storage, stuffing things in their pockets. You waste no time equipping yourself with a gun.

Time may change a lot about a person, but you’ve found it won’t deter their core. There’s a hardened criminal within you, no matter how much you cover it up. So if you have to kill to survive? That’s just what it takes. You sneak up on the intruder silently, who stops moving at the sound of your gun clicking, pressing it up against the back of his neck. 

You speak in a low, cold voice, one that commands with evil intent. It’s almost sickening to hear coming from your mouth. 

“Put your hands where I can see them. And turn around.”

The intruder hesitates, but does as he’s told. And you suddenly start feeling bad about this. He’s small and scrappy, nearly a foot shorter than you from this angle, wrapped in tattered old clothes with years of history etched into them. And from the look on his half-covered face, it’s not a very good history. You recognize the hurt in his eyes. The world has chewed you both up and spit you out here. 

You try not to show empathy, not even lowering your weapon. You just stare at him trembling there. There’s decisions to be made here and for once you don’t know which one to follow.

“Put it all back where you found it.”

He looks confused for a moment, and curls in on himself ever so slightly, like he’s expecting you to lash out at any minute. That’s just uncharacteristic of you. You keep your calm, merely raising an eyebrow at him as a suggestion that he should get moving. He unloads his trenchcoat pockets and takes a few cans out from a messenger bag, hastily putting them with the rest. He looks back at you over his shoulder, eyes wild.

You sigh and lower the gun, shoulders relaxing. “I’m not gonna hurt you, relax.”

He loosens up slightly, standing upright to face you. “I thought this place was empty,” he says, sounding raspy and echoed from the gas mask.

“As far as anyone else is concerned, it is. We’re probably the only people within a 500 mile radius from here.”

“I thought it seemed desolate.” He glances down. It’s normally difficult to read someone’s expressions when they arent showing their whole face, but with this guy, it’s easy. 

“You’re runnin’ from somethin’, huh?”

He looks up at you with some odd sense of hope. “Yes.”

You put an arm around his shoulder like you’ve been friends for years. “You can stay here for a spell. Just do me a favor ‘n don’t get too attached.”

You know damn well you're lying.


End file.
